


The princess and the conman

by darkmoore



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 19:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12217275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmoore/pseuds/darkmoore
Summary: Woken by a nightmare, Anya is in for a surprise as the night takes a turn she had not quite anticipated. Neither had Dmitry, apparently.





	The princess and the conman

**Author's Note:**

> This is the "In a crowd of thousands" scene from Anya's POV. I paraphrased the lyrics to something I think people would actually say in a conversation. There also is the "reunion" scene at the bridge, but I used some artistic license because her running around wearing a huge tiara and a gown covered in gems is not the most sane thing to do, you know? The story fills the "family" square on my h/c BINGO card and the "reunion" square on my Trope BINGO card.  
> Massive thanks go to [Brumeier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier) who did the beta and is a never ending source of support and inspiration. Thank you so much, Bru! As always all remaining mistakes are my own and I don't own any of this - I just want to play in that sandbox and will return them unharmed.

The remnants of the nightmare clung to her like cobwebs and her heart raced as screams and the sound of shots echoed through her head. Then Dmitry was there, his hands strong and sure on her arms, grounding her when a moment ago it had felt like her world had been tilted off its axis. 

“Stay with me, Dmitry, I’m frightened,” Anya begged, not caring how she sounded. The voices in her head, the sound of the gunfire … it had been so real, so …

Dmitry tugged her towards the bed and sat her down, his expression full of concern. “Is that better?” he asked. The warmth of his hand on the small of her back seeped into her skin through her clammy nightgown. Nausea made her stomach turn but she fought it down. 

Anya blinked back tears. She couldn’t bear it to have him look at her like this when she felt so weak and pathetic. “Who do you think I am, Dmitry?” she asked him, despair coloring her voice. She wanted to scream in frustration or cower in fear, either was fine if it meant she would stop feeling like such a mess. 

“If I were the Dowager Empress I would want you to be Anastasia,” he said and for a split second Anya wanted to snap at him that that wasn’t an answer to her question. 

“You would?” she asked instead and pressed a hand against her stomach, hoping to calm the roiling a bit. She felt so out of sorts. None of this made much sense, but maybe her befuddled brain just hadn’t caught up to the conversation yet. 

“I would want her to a beautiful, strong, intelligent young woman,” Dmitry said, and the comforting warmth of his hand never left her back. 

“Is that who you think I am?” Anya asked, surprised. It wasn’t like him to say such things to her. Sure, they’d become friends, but Dmitry wasn’t someone who’d flatter her, not even when she felt like she was coming apart at the seams. At least he hadn’t done that in the past. 

“I do,” Dmitry answered sincerely, and Anya’s already upset stomach did a little flip. 

“Thank you,” she said She stared at him in wonder, unsure what to make of the sudden rush of giddiness that spread through her like a wildfire. A smile tugged at her lips and this, all of it, suddenly felt very surreal. She was hyper aware of his closeness, the gentle hand still on her back, the slight press of his pyjama-clad leg against her own. 

“You’re welcome,” he replied softly, and Anya was completely mesmerized by him – until he abruptly slid away from her like a skittish horse. As if he too had suddenly realized how close they were sitting, how intimate it all felt in the near-darkness of her bedroom. 

Anya missed his warmth the moment his hand left the small of her back, and disappointment burned in her chest. “I began to wonder if you were ever gonna pay me a compliment,” she said pointedly. The partly helpless, partly embarrassed look that appeared on Dmitry’s face wasn’t as satisfying as she had hoped. Nothing at all felt like she expected it to feel, if she was being honest with herself. 

Dmitry avoided her eyes, looking around the room and kneading his fingers nervously, and Anya began to wonder if it had been a mistake to ask him to stay. 

“Do you really think I might be her?” Anya finally asked haltingly, but found she really wanted to know the answer to that particular question. 

He tilted his head and glanced at her, and there was an odd undertone in his voice when he said, “I want to believe you are the little girl I saw once, many years ago.” 

Anya frowned. What was he talking about? “I don’t understand,” she said. 

“It was June. I was … ten.” Dmitry began his explanation and the way he said it - the inflection, the far-off look on his face, the small smile playing around his lips as he tilted his head towards her again - it all spoke of a memory held dear. He was sharing something with her that was close to his heart; deeply personal. 

“There was this parade – thousands of people on the street – that’s where I saw her. The little girl. She was sitting in her carriage, back straight, proud, serene, with a regal air about her, as the crowd cheered. She must have been about eight, at that time.” Dmitry’s voice was fond, his smile growing brighter by the second, and Anya couldn’t help but be a little amused about the way he described the child he’d seen all those years ago. _Regal_. Little girls usually didn’t do the whole ‘regal, proud and serene’ thing. They were children after all. 

“I sometimes still think of that day. I was standing there, amidst all these cheering people, just … staring at her, really. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.” Wistful now, and a little sad. Anya tried to imagine what it had been like that day, what it must have felt like for Dmitry. She watched him as he got up off the bed and took as step towards something only he could see. 

“I started to run towards her. I wanted to get closer, wanted to be near her just once, and as I ran I started to yell her name. I’m not even sure she could hear me through the noise the masses made, but suddenly I was in front of her. It seemed she was so close I could have touched her. I reached out my hand towards her and-” He broke off and took a deep breath, obviously moved by the memory. 

“She smiled. She smiled at me and it felt … like the best thing ever. But …” He hesitated and turned to face Anya completely. “…the parade travelled on and before I knew it, the bright sunlight blinded me and she was … gone. Just like that. Gone. But … I will never forget the way she looked that day. I know, if I could go back to being ten? If I could be that boy again, I’d be able to pick her out of that crowd of thousands. Because she was special.” 

Something weird was happening to Anya. As she watched him relive his memory, as she tried to imagine what it had been like, a strange feeling started to build in her chest; it made it hard to breathe. His description of the parade, the crowd, the day: it all seemed so oddly familiar, yet at the same time like a dream. 

Anya smiled at him, humbled that he had shared such a private moment with her. “You make me feel like I was there too,” she finally admitted, and to her surprise Dmitry grinned at her mischievously. 

“Maybe you were,” he said with humor and something akin to longing in his voice as he moved to stand at the foot of her bed, leaning onto the bedrail. 

“Make it part of your story,” he suggested, his hands waving at her in a little ‘go on, do it’ motion. His face was suddenly alight with anticipation, like he’d found something else to teach her, another fact to drill into her brain, another lesson for her to learn. 

She couldn’t bring herself to deny him. He looked so … happy. So Anya took a deep breath and tested out the words she needed to bring this story alive, too. “A parade?”

“A parade!” he agreed, obviously delighted that she was playing along. 

“My carriage is moving through this large crowd of people,” she said, trying to picture it, trying to put herself in the place of the little girl Dmitry had met that day. 

“Yes, thousands of people.” He encouraged her to elaborate. “They are cheering.”

“It was so hot that day. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky,” Anya said, and even as she said it the words began to settle inside of her, becoming the truth. 

Dmitry was beaming at her, his hands doing one of his little ‘there you have it, you can do it’ gestures she’d come to love. 

It was true; it had been awfully hot that day. The sun had been burning from the sky relentlessly, making her feel hot in her white dress, and making it all the harder to heed Mama and Papa’s words. That she and her siblings needed to keep their composure, to behave like the royals they were, to make them proud. 

“We’d been moving for a while when … a boy caught my eye amidst the crowd.” Dmitry was grinning at her in a ‘oh, really?’ kind of way and settled himself next to her onto the bed again, even closer than before. Anya didn’t mind. His presence beside her seemed to ground her, tethering her in the here and now, as the present suddenly seemed to become a slippery thing to hold onto. 

As Anya looked at Dmitry she could see the boy he had been. A scrawny little street rat, eyes too large and too _knowing_ in his dirty face. “He was underfed and not too clean,” Anya said, because it was the truth and nothing but the truth would do. She’d started this; she’d see it through now. Dmitry made a sound of protest and when Anya focused on him, his expression shifting between frowning and offended. “…but he sure was determined.” 

Anya’s heart began to beat faster, blood rushing in her ears. “He managed to dodge the guards that were supposed to keep the peasants away. He made sure I noticed him, somehow.” The room seemed to dissolve around Anya and suddenly she was back in that carriage, in the heat, staring at the boy that so desperately wanted her attention. 

“He ran towards me, calling out my name, single mindedly determined to get near me. I knew I wasn’t supposed to smile. I was supposed to keep my composure. But I couldn’t help it. There was so much joy in him, so much eagerness. He looked at me with those big eyes and I just had to smile at him.” Anya felt dizzy. “And then, he bowed.” Tears prickled in Anya’s eyes as the memory solidified and became stunningly, brilliantly clear. It hurt. God, it hurt. 

Behind her, Dmitry made a startled, surprised sound. Anya turned around to face him – when had she gotten up from the bed? – just as he said, “I didn’t tell you that.” His voice was a strange mix of astonishment and bewilderment, and he looked at her as if he’d seen a ghost. Maybe he had. 

“You didn’t have to. I remembered,” Anya clarified. _I remembered._ Two simple words. Two words that had just turned her whole world upside down. 

In the next second, Dmitry was on the move. He rushed towards her, his strong, warm hands wrapping securely around Anya’s forearms. Anya hadn’t even noticed that she was shaking until he touched her, once again grounding her in ways that she couldn’t quite comprehend. He was her rock and she held onto him desperately when the wave of memories and the emotions that came with them threatened to drown her. 

“The parade traveled on,” she repeated his earlier words back at him, because yes, the same thing had been true for her on that day the carriage had taken her away from him. “I was blinded by the sun and when I could see again, _you_ were gone.” She didn’t quite know why she put emphasis to the word, acknowledging what hung unspoken between them, but his eyes lit up at her words, and suddenly he was that little boy again that desperately wanted her attention. 

Dmitry smiled at her blindingly and part of Anya wanted to stay in that moment forever, cocooned in their own little world in the privacy of her bedroom, holding onto each other. “I thought about you a lot, after that parade,” Anya admitted. Yes, she had _remembered_ him, then; even if she hadn’t, later on, after her family had been murdered. “I remembered you and the way you looked at me. I knew, even back then, that I would recognize you, _find_ you, in that crowd of thousands. I knew I would find you again.” 

Dmitry’s face was alight with happiness and wonder, his joy at her words, at finding what he’d thought lost such a long time ago clearly visible on his face. “And I knew I would find you,” he said, gently and then he slowly moved towards her, closing the remaining distance as his hand came up and cupped her neck tenderly. 

Heat rushed through Anya and arousal suddenly curled in her belly when Dmitry’s warm breath ghosted over her skin as he leaned down to kiss her. To _kiss_ her. Her first real kiss and Dmitry was about to make it come true. Anya didn’t dare close her eyes in case this all was just another of her dreams and everything around her would vanish into wisps of gray smoke. 

Later, Anya would wish she hadn’t looked at him, that she could un-see the moment everything fell apart. The moment realization dawned on Dmitry’s handsome features and his face fell. He looked crestfallen, his eyes suddenly dull as he took a hasty step back from her, taking the warmth of his embrace with him. As Anya watched, shame and embarrassment followed in swift succession and it was then that Anya knew it was all over. She’d lost him. 

His quiet “Your Highness” was like a stab to her gut and tears welled up in her eyes as he lowered himself to one knee at her feet, his wrists coming to rest on his other knee. He bowed his head before looking up again and, contrary to the bow the boy at the parade had given her all these years ago, this kneel was full of reverence and submission rather than adoration. It hurt to see him like this, his eyes muted and dull; it hurt as much as remembering had hurt, maybe even more. Remembering had given her back the memories of her family, but it had robbed her of the man she loved. In that moment Anya wondered if the price hadn’t been too high.

* * *

Dmitry found himself at the Pont Alexandre III without having made the conscious decision to go there. He took a deep breath as he lowered himself onto the small suitcase that held his meager belongings. The air smelled of flowers and damp earth and the first tantalizing fragrances of spring. _Paris in spring_ , Dmitry thought bitterly. Surely it was the epitome of romance: the perfect time and place to fall in love. And he had fallen in love. Only instead of happiness, it had brought him nothing but longing and pain. It was a childish fantasy, being with Anya. With _Anastasia_.

As if.

As if someone like him stood a chance with her. She had what she wanted, what she had come to find: her family. 

With a heavy heart, Dmitry contemplated his options. He couldn’t go back to Russia – he’d get shot on sight – so that left him with either staying in France and making a new home there somewhere, or move on to another country. Anya was with her grandmother and Vlad was setting up to become Lily’s next husband, which left Dmitry on his own. 

He didn’t have a lot of money – just what remained of what he’d gotten from selling Anya’s … _Anastasia’s_ diamond. Still, Dmitry didn’t regret having refused the reward money the Dowager Empress had tried to hand him for bringing her granddaughter back to her. It just hadn’t felt right. Dmitry didn’t want any money for giving Anya her most desperate wish; for making her happy. Knowing she was with her family, even if he could never have that again himself, was a reward itself. Not one that would keep him fed and clothed, true, but still a reward. 

_“She’ll break your heart, Dmitry. If they accept her as Anastasia you will never see her again,”_ Vlad had said only days ago. And he’d been right. Not that Dmitry had been prepared to acknowledge it at the time. Denial was a handy thing, until you couldn’t lie to yourself any longer. 

Suddenly Dmitry felt as if he was being watched. Years of living in the streets of St. Petersburg had taught him never to ignore that kind of feeling and he started to look around nervously. The streets were surprisingly quiet, only a couple on a stroll out here or there, which made the figure walking towards him stand out all the more. 

It was a woman, cloak wrapped around her securely and hood pulled up to cover her hair and conceal her face, but Dmitry would have recognized Anya anywhere. _I’d find you in a crowd of thousands_ , Dmitry thought, and the memory of that night hurt more than he cared to admit. 

She stopped a few feet away from him and the cloak she’d been holding closed with her hand slipped open, revealing a stunning red gown beneath. Countless precious jewels caught the late evening sun; it was a breathtaking sight. Dmitry was sure that the gems on her dress alone were worth more money than he would possess in all his life, and just underneath the hood of her cloak he could make out a crown offset with rubies, diamonds and pearls. 

Anger and worry welled up in Dmitry. Anya was walking around like she had no care in the world, wearing a sizable fortune on her body. How could she be so foolish, so careless with her safety? What would the Dowager Empress say if something happened to her precious granddaughter, just when she had found her again?

Out of the corner of his eye, Dmitry caught a movement down the street behind her and he realized that Anya wasn’t as unprotected or alone as he had initially thought. Surely the Dowager Empress had sent at least one of her men after Anya … _Anastasia_ discreetly, to ensure her safety. The thought should have comforted Dmitry but instead it hurt. 

Other people would be taking care of Anya from now on. Other people would protect her. And soon she would find a suitor befitting her title and social status, and that other man would get to hold her and comfort her when the nightmares came back. And they would come back, of that Dmitry was certain. Just because she now remembered her past didn’t mean the ghosts couldn’t haunt her any more. It was even possible remembering would make things worse. Not that he’d be there to see her through it. 

When the silence between them became unbearable, her small body rigid with anger or another emotion he couldn’t figure out, Dmitry decided to take pity on the both of them.

Better get it over with. 

“If you ever see me from a carriage again, don’t wave, don’t smile,” Dmitry said with a lot more bite than he’d intended. Hurt rushed over Anya’s face. “I don’t want to be in love with someone I can’t have for the rest of my life.” 

As soon as he said the words Dmitry wished he could take them back. He hadn’t meant to tell her that he was in love with her. He’d been fine with her thinking he’d played with her feelings, that he’d lied to her, manipulated her as a means to an end. Telling her that she meant so much more to him had never been on the agenda. 

Time for damage control. Time to get away from her. Dmitry rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving her still form. She watched him, unmoving, and he couldn’t even begin to guess what was going on in her head. Her expression was blank as he stepped farther away from her and took a mocking little bow.

 _Bowing is a sign of respect_ , Vlad had claimed what felt like a lifetime ago.

Anya … Anastasia was the only person Dmitry had ever bowed to in his life. She’d be the last; he’d make sure of that. 

“Goodbye, Your Majesty,” Dmitry said, reminding himself, reminding the both of them, just how unsuited and wrong he was for her, love or not. He picked up his suitcase, turned and walked away. But suddenly he saw her move, out of the corner of his eyes. She took a few hesitant steps towards him, but still kept her distance. 

“I always dreamed my first kiss would be in Paris with a handsome prince,” she blurted out, sounding strangled. 

Dmitry closed his eyes in defeat and turned around again to face her. “I’m not your prince, Anya,” Dmitry said quietly. Damn her for making him spell it out. Damn her for putting him through all this humiliation and pain. Couldn’t she see that he was trying his hardest to do what was right for her? Couldn’t she see it was for the best? A conman and a princess had no business falling in love. There just was no middle ground; she was so far above him. 

A determined expression rushed over her face and Dmitry had just enough time to think _uh oh!_ before she was on the move. He’d seen this kind of look on her face often enough to know that he was in a world of trouble. His fiery little princess had never held back when it came to making her views known. _I don’t like to be contradicted_ , she’d told him often enough, early on. 

Now she was advancing on him, hands balled to fists at her side as she strode towards him with eyes ablaze with emotion. “The Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov would tend to disagree, Dima!” she snapped. She reached for his suitcase, threw it on the ground and used it as a step. She grabbed his face in both hands and a second later her lips were on his – warm, soft and utterly perfect. 

Dmitry was still completely thrown by her outburst and the use of his childhood nickname, so it took his brain a second to catch up and get with the program. He closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss as he settled his hands on her waist, holding onto her. Dmitry’s head spun when she deepened the kiss and pressed closer to him, but eventually common sense won out.

They were standing in the middle of a Parisian street, kissing, while the woman he loved was wearing the contents of an entire jewelry shop on her body. It simply wouldn’t do. Dmitry reluctantly broke the kiss, smiling at her, and Anya beamed back at him. 

“I should probably take you back to your hotel room,” he said and tilted his head in the direction of her security detail. “Give this poor guy the chance to relax a little.”

Anya smiled. “That is an excellent idea. I have so much to tell you, Dima,” she said and took the arm he offered her. 

“Let’s go then,” Dmitry agreed, picked up his suitcase and started to walk back towards the hotel she stayed at. He didn’t know what would happen now, or what the future would hold, but he suddenly got the feeling that fairytales might come true sometimes after all.


End file.
